Driving through Dijon en route to the burial place of Bernadette Soubirous one Tuesday morning, one of our traveling companions, looking out the window at the rolling green hills and the vinyards, said, “God really blessed France”.
Then we stopped for lunch at a restaurant and ate outside under blooming fruit trees and ate burgers and fries. Not like the Burger King her husband was craving, but like from one of the happy herefords in the back 40.
I know some Frenchies realize it. I’ve met them.
It was Charolais Cattle. AND there was Burgundy wine.